That Simple Scent
by CoolShoesChick
Summary: There was something about her scent... It was sweet, with a bit of citrus. It made his head spin in ways he never wanted to admit to himself. His scent made her feel safe and warm and welcome, something he had never done himself. But how long could she deny that smell belonged to him? And after all the suffering, could their relationship really be mended by that one simple scent?
1. A Beginning for the Ages

Disclaimer: I do not own the Characters in this work- J.K. Rowling has that glorious and wonderful right. :)

That Simple Scent

xxx

The first chill of winter had only just settled in when some strange happenings began occurring within the walls of Hogwarts.

Hermione Granger, a most eloquent and educated witch, was busying herself in the library, tasking herself to find something that would save, or at the very least formidably aid, her dear friend Harry Potter, from the inevitable doom that presented itself in the form of the first trial of Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Hermione was the type to become very lost in the depths of this giant achieve of magic. In the beginning of her time at Hogwarts, she had an underlying fear that if she was to falter in any of her classes, that she would be ruthlessly evicted from her place at the school. But after being the top student in her class for the past three years, she seemed to have settled in enough to shake off that fear and be able to truly immerse herself into the wonders that the magical world held. The added bonus of having broken an array of Hogwarts rules and probably a decent share of Wizarding Laws and coming out relatively unscathed only reinforced her comfort.

So even with a life-or-death conquest in mind, Hermione ended up with a stack of books resting comfortably by the one surprisingly squishy arm chair she found herself resting in, hidden in a corner of the library.

As she read, Hermione lightly bounced her foot, humming very softly as she began to lose herself amidst the text and occasional illustration. A solid hour must have passed when a stir finally returned to her section of the library. Hermione didn't bother to look up—it was probably Madam Pince just fetching a book for a wayward student. But something about the steps didn't sound like Madam Pince. The woman might have been the most tightly wound person Hermione knew, but sure as all could be, the witch was as dainty footed as a ballerina.

No. These steps were precise, but flat footed. The sound as this mysterious person walked swiftly up and down the aisles of the section sounded heavier. Then, as the person began to get closer to Hermione's location, she sudden heard an oh-so familiar voice grousing at as loud of a whisper as Madam Pince's keen ears would allow.

"Bloody book must be hidden! I knew I never should have sent Crabbe and Goyle together to fetch it. They barely have half a brain when their together…! Can't even manage to find one bloody book."

Draco Malfoy was invading her sanctuary. She was not in the mood to play verbal fisticuffs with the brat, so she began to sweep up her collection of books to check out and read elsewhere. Unfortunately, Malfoy caught sight of her before she even left her chair.

"Well, well. What a surprise to see you here, Granger. Well, I guess not really. I bet books like you better than any respectable wizard, so I can see why you'd – Wait a minute, what's that book you got there?!"

The book he was making reference to was a large, old book that had existed for so long, most of the lettering on the leather cover had been worn away. It was resting on the top of the pile of books, with the cover lightly flipped open—primed for action when Hermione was to finish her first book. It was a book entitled "Madam Featherstone's Almanac for the Ages" and it was Hermione's only way of knowing what had happened with the previous Tri-wizard tournament trial had been, and to see if any of the previous Tournaments had repeat trials. Apparently, Malfoy had come to the same realization that this book could be the one thing that made or broke Harry in the Tournament.

Hermione was not about to let something like that slip into Malfoy's devious hands.

Draco tried to make a dive for the book, but Hermione was too quick. With a flick of her wand Malfoy's legs snapped shut and began to fall face first towards the floor. He made a mad scramble for anything that would hold him up, and managed to get over his disdain for Hermione long enough to drag her down to the floor with him—before she could even gloat at how effortlessly she pulled off the hex.

Malfoy, in spite of his current issues with mobility, still made a grab for the book that sat just outside his reach. Hermione was trying her best to roll her enemy off her body, but was consistently brought back into the fray of flailing arms and robe that Draco Malfoy had become.

By the time Draco had resigned to giving up, Hermione had already decided to bide her time and see when Draco would exhaust himself enough to quit and get him off of her. Draco exclaimed in disgust upon realizing how he had managed to let "God-awful Granger" get so close to him, close enough to force herself underneath his perfect frame and cause such a scene in the middle of it all. Thank the HEAVENS that no one had seen this mess.

Hermione lightly pushed Draco off, and clamored back up. She dusted herself off, muttering to herself about having to decide if there was enough detergent in the world to remove the essence of Draco to not burn this set of robes. She flicked her wand again and the pile of books levitated, following her slowly as she left Malfoy to fend for himself.

It wasn't until she got to the Gryffindor common room that she began to wonder what smelled so good. Hermione never quite could pinpoint where it came from, but it seemed to fill the air and her lungs, and when she breathed it in, she somehow felt safe.

And that night, after lightly flipping through the history of the other Tri-Wizard Tournaments, she fell asleep with her covers smelling faintly of that dream like scent she smelled before.

Somehow, her sleep was deeper and more blissful than any other night so far.


	2. The Old Witch and Her Tree

Disclaimer: I do not own the Characters in this work- J.K. Rowling has that glorious and wonderful right. :)

That Simple Scent

xxx

That filthy mudblood had only just left the library when Draco had managed to un-hex himself. He darted out after her only to discover that he was standing alone in the corridor she had just entered.

Draco admitted to himself that what she lacked in general magical worthiness, she (only in a very minuscule way) made up for with her swiftness. Draco, resigned to declaring this a pause in his never ending plight against that abominable trio, shuffled off back to his dormitory, hoping to spend the evening in peace.

While he usually had no complaints about anything that was insulting to Potter, he had had enough of the chittering of the first years all asking him questions about why Potter was so foul.

"Didn't he save us from the Dark Lord?" One would chime in.

"And he always seems so nice to most people." Another would push in.

"He gave me directions on the first day when I was lost!"

"Why are we making the buttons? Is he really that awful?"

He cursed inwardly about his outspoken hatred of Potter—it had given him more trouble than ever, and it seemed that his legion of fellow Potter despisers would be made up mostly of the Upperclassman.

Draco glided into the Slytherin Common and went straight to bed before any of the first years could really get a hold on him.

When Draco crawled onto his bed, he stretched out his legs and ran his feet against the silk linens. He thought of Hermione's embarrassingly swift spell work and his extremely short bout of paralysis. He fumed for moment, but for once, decided to let it go.

He reached over the side of his bed and pulled out a book his mother had sent to him, along with a box of delicious treats that Draco had yet to polish off. The book was a simple story book that Draco had loved since he was a child.

He thought it was stupid at first—what fourteen year old wants to have their childhood favorite with them at school? Was she trying to see how quickly it could be discovered? Maybe she wanted to see how long her "dear boy" would be teased for it.

But as the year dragged on, he found himself returning more and more often to the comfort of its pages, with the occasional tart hanging from his mouth.

He was drawn to the book today for a variety of reasons, like the fact that an awful lot had happened in the few days after Halloween turned into another Potter Propaganda scheme, but also something else. Something about a certain lingering, vaguely fruity smell that he couldn't place made him just a little bit nip-ish and the citrus that was wafting around him made him think very fondly about a story in his book—the one about the old witch and her orange trees. It was probably his favorite story in the whole book, which only made it all the more irresistible to return to.

He peeled back the covers of his bed and burrowed himself beneath the soft and smooth comfort of his sheets. He reached to bedside table and slide the top drawer open and seized another sweet treat—oddly enough, an orange tart.

"How perfect." He thought.

He propped up his pillow, and leaned back, nibbling as he read.

As he read for the thousandth time the tale of the old witch and her antics with an enchanted orange tree, he felt himself drifting to sleep. At first he battled it, determined to not let a light snack and a bed time story knock him out. But the unplaceable scent was so inviting, so sweet, but no so much it was overwhelming, it enticed him to let his body slowly slide down into a position for sleep. He admitted defeat as his eyelids began to fail him in his night owl endeavors. The smell of the fruit made him think, right before he fell asleep, that maybe he could just dream of the old witch and apologize for not finishing her story. Maybe she wouldn't mind, then, if he visited her again to smell the sweet scent that had filled his mind. With one last deep breath, he let himself glide to sleep.


End file.
